


The Fairytale Of New York Affair

by catfishkid



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: And the bells were ringing out on Christmas day, Christmas Miracle, Cute, Drunk Fun, Illya in a Santa hat, M/M, Pre-Slash, Will Napoleon get that kiss under the mistletoe?, sneaky Napoleon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfishkid/pseuds/catfishkid
Summary: Loosely inspired by the great song, ‘The Fairytale Of New York’, by The Progues. Napoleon persuades a reluctant Illya to spend Christmas Eve with him and the two men enjoy a memorable evening out together in the beautiful city.





	1. Act I

**Act I:** _“It was Christmas Eve, babe”_

Illya wasn’t a fan of Christmas anymore. Back home he used to like it; it was celebrated as a time for family and friends to get together whilst partaking in different traditions. But since moving to the western world, to him it had seemingly lost its true meaning over here; it was merely just another tacky commercial holiday with the main purpose to suck money from those who had it and even worse, from those who didn’t.

Napoleon, on the other hand, was a massive fan of Christmas. Of course he was, he was the embodiment of a western man, tacky ‘traditions’ and all. He loved every aspect of it, shopping for others and himself, indulging in Christmas food, the chance to utilise mistletoe.

Napoleon’s love for Christmas was so extreme that that’s the only reason Illya was here with him on Christmas Eve. They’d both finished at HQ early evening, as they’d somehow managed to speed through a backlog of paper work and as they were about to part ways after exchanging Christmas pleasantries Napoleon slapped on that charming smile and batted his eyelids. His family, who he usually flew out to, to spend Christmas with or they’d come to him, granted he wasn’t on a mission, had last minute decided to go on vacation abroad for the holidays this year and Napoleon couldn’t join them because they were on call on Boxing Day and physically needed back at HQ the day after that. He insisted he could somehow survive spending Christmas Day alone if only Illya would keep him company for the rest of Christmas Eve.

Illya at first refused, but when Napoleon had followed him down the road, made a nuisance of himself and reinforced to Illya just how much it would mean to him to not have to spend this time alone Illya gave in. 

Illya said that as long as Napoleon had him back home by midnight and didn’t leave him hanging anywhere like a gooseberry whilst he went seducing, then Illya would be his company for the evening.

Napoleon had endearingly likened him to Scrooge when he’d changed for the better and in return let Illya decided what to do. That’s how they’d ended up in an Irish tavern uptown in New York City. Illya was fond of the Irish taverns in Manhattan, he’d spent many years living in London when younger for his studies and had on occasion visited Ireland. Although he missed the traditional English pubs, in New York the Irish taverns were as close as he was going to get.

“Another two shots of vodka please, sir.” Napoleon called across the bar, slamming some loose change down. 

“Four shots in an hour Napoleon. Are you planning to sleep tomorrow away with a headache?”

“You’ve had the same amount.”

“I’m Russian, if anything I can handle my vodka,” Illya replied with a smirk. Failing to point out that Napoleon was also more than half way through his second large glass of white wine, whilst Illya was slowly sipping on the same low alcohol content beer. 

The bartender took the change and handed over the shots, his thick Irish accent directing Illya to look after this ‘lightweight American’. Napoleon looked like he should be offended, but he clearly had no idea what the had just been said and Illya just chuckled along with the bartender.

The two men clinked the small glasses together and downed the vodka in unison. No matter how much he drunk, the burning sensation in the back of his throat was never something that Illya would get used to and he promptly chugged a few mouthfuls of beer to settle it down. Napoleon done no such thing after his shot and Illya wondered if he was tipsy enough for the pain to be numb or it just didn’t shake him anyway.

Despite his initial reluctance to come out this evening, Illya was actually enjoying himself. He was glad he got to pick where to go, not just for the Irish tavern, but he imagined left to Napoleon they’d be doing something annoyingly Christmassy like watching carols, visiting Santa’s grotto or last minute gift shopping. Whilst the tavern did have a tree up and a few decorations, with some staff and fellow drinkers in Christmas themed jumpers and paper hats it was pretty tame compared to the rest of the city. Him getting to pick the place wasn’t the only reason he was enjoying himself though, it was because he couldn’t actually remember a time him and Napoleon had let loose together in personal time like this. They’d gone to the occasional dinner together, usually when Napoleon wanted to test a restaurant ahead of a date, they’d shared drinks undercover or quite often after a mission in a hotel room before they flew back or even as part of a double date sort of thing, but they’d never just gone out together and drunk.

Illya was happy that they were doing that right now, because that’s what friends done wasn’t it? And here in New York, Napoleon was one of the few, if not only, people that he could call a friend. In fact when he thought about it, Napoleon was probably the only person in years that ever invited him to hang out as normal friends do. Usually from men and women there was an ulterior motive of requesting his company that was either wanting to bed him, wanting his help with something, or a politically correct invite because everyone else in the section was invited to the function and it would be rude to leave him out. 

Illya tried not to mind, it wasn’t as if he didn’t purposely try and keep himself to himself most times and he wasn’t exactly taking the first steps to make friends during his downtime. Though he’d allow himself to admit in some very private corner or his brain that it could be kind of lonely occasionally. Perhaps in the new year he’d suggest to Napoleon they do stuff together like this at least once a month if time permitted. Like a platonic date night; they were partners after all.

Illya was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the fifth shot glass being thrust into his hand. “Another one,” he sighed, swirling around the clear liquid.

“It’s Christmas Eve, babe.” Napoleon smiled. “Time to be merry.”

“Did you just call me babe?” Illya cocked an eyebrow, amused.

Napoleon screwed up his face, done the shot and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. “Nope.”

“Yes you did.”

“Don’t think so, you misheard me. Must’ve been your accent.”

Another eyebrow raised, that didn’t even make sense. No more shots for Napoleon or himself either, he thought as the burning liquid trickled down his throat. Five in less than an hour was pushing it even for him, there was only so much his Russian blood could dilute. He scooped up a handful of the complimentary peanuts in a measly effort to try and counteract any effects of the alcohol with food.

“Psst,” Napoleon said rather loudly, leaning over to what he thought was whisper in Illya’s ear. “Don’t look now but right behind you there’s two gorgeous women who keep giving us the eye.”

“The back of my head must look very attractive to them,” Illya deadpanned. “I thought we agreed if I came out tonight you wouldn’t leave me to be a third wheel.”

“My little Russian,” Napoleon said, managing to shuffle up his bar stool and throwing his arm around Illya. “It’s not third wheeling if there’s a lady for you.”

“Have you ever thought, Napoleon, that I don’t want a lady?”

“Oh.”

There was silence for a moment and then Napoleon cleared his throat. “Oooooooh... Oh.. I didn’t realise. Since when? I mean that’s none of my business but since when?”

It took a few seconds for Illya to realise what an Earth Napoleon was going on about and he rolled his eyes. “I mean tonight I don’t want anyone.”

He didn’t specify man or woman. It was more amusing to watch tipsy, maybe drunk at this stage, Napoleon try to be discreet in finding out which. Illya was never one to indulge in gossiping about his romantic life or lack of and despite his prying the only information Napoleon would ever get was what he ever got to witness first hand. Perhaps if they done more stuff like this regularly Illya might divulge a little more over a beer.

“Hey, Illya.”

“Yes, Napoleon?”

“1966 is going to be a good year.”

“How do you mean?”

“For you and me, it’s going to be good. I can tell, trust me, Kuryakin.”

Illya had no idea what Napoleon was on about and any more requests to clarify fell on deaf ears as the agent ungracefully clambered off his barstool and staggered towards the toilets. 

Illya looked down at his watch, it had only just gone 8pm, he wondered how much more Napoleon could take of this before passing out, throwing up or both. Illya hadn’t seen Napoleon this badly intoxicated since a colleague’s leaving drinks when Illya had first been assigned to New York and that had been years ago. He wondered if since then Napoleon had made a conscious effort not to drink as much but tonight he’d just decided to go all out and let loose on Illya.

At least, as long as there was no sick, it was interesting to watch. Napoleon was always so smooth and composed around everyone, watching him trip over his words and his steps made for good viewing. 

Just then Napoleon reappeared, without any explanation he quickly pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. “Time to go, Illya,” he said, looking flustered with his eyes darting around the place. Illya noted how disheveled he looked, tie askew, shirt partly untucked, hair a mess. It didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to guess what he’d just been up to.

Illya looked around the room, but didn’t see anything that would have Napoleon so on edge all of a sudden like the young woman he’d just pulled coming towards him brandishing a wedding ring. “I like it here. If we leave here I’m going home, I didn’t agree on a bar crawl.”

“Can you just come on, Illya.” By this point Napoleon was literally tugging at his arm. 

“Napoleon, what’s wrong?”

Napoleon pulled out a crisp $10 note and slid it under the nut bowl as a tip. A very generous tip, either he really was feeling the Christmas spirit or he was too panicked or drunk to even care.

“One of the lovely ladies giving us the eye followed me to the bathroom,” Napoleon finally explained, “but she failed to mention she was waiting for her husband who tuned up early. And he’s built like a tank.”

Illya smirked, discretion wasn’t drunk Napoleon’s strong point. “You don’t fancy taking him?”

“I mean we could, but he’s built like a tank.”

“There’s no _we_ in this,” Illya said, looking back to where Napoleon was nodding. It wasn’t hard to find out who the disgruntled husband was, he was rather large. All fists and knuckles. His eyes scanned over the crowds presumably for Napoleon. Illya didn’t fancy drunk Napoleon’s chances against him in a fist fight and he himself wasn’t looking for a brawl so he hopped off his seat, grabbed his coat and let Napoleon drag him out of the establishment.

They ran down the street, not because the brute had followed them, but because Napoleon had taken Illya’s hand and he didn’t have a choice. They came to a halt when Napoleon pulled them into an alleyway.

“You know he wasn’t following us,” Illya pointed out. “Not everyone you annoy is a professional bad guy who’s going to hunt you down.”

“Hey, you can never be too careful.” Napoleon looked down and smiled. It didn’t take long for Illya to realise what he was smiling at and pulled his hand out of Napoleon’s. He felt the temperature in his cheeks rising and blamed it on the fact the alcohol had just hit him and not because Napoleon holding his hand hadn’t felt weird.

“Don’t go home yet, Illya,” Napoleon pleaded, leaning back against the wall and putting on his wooly hat and gloves that matched his scarf. It was the only time Illya had given him a Christmas present after seeing the set in a shop in Paris and deciding the royal blue would suit him so much it would be a crime against fashion for him not to buy the garments.

And Illya was right, every winter when it was worn the set never failed to look good on him. Not that Illya was paying attention to what looked good on Napoleon or not.

Or maybe he was.

God, he suddenly changed his mind about no more alcohol and decided he needed another vodka. He realised that he hadn’t answered Napoleon and against his better judgement didn’t reinforce what he early said about going home. “What did you have in mind?”

Napoleon pushed himself off the wall and stepped back into the street, beckoning Illya to stand next to him.

“Look,” he stretched his arm out in front of him, “this is New York, the city where dreams come true at the most magical time of the year. The possibilities are endless.”

“Napoleon, that’s not an answer.”

It was such a quick moment that Illya almost didn’t realise that Napoleon had slipped his hand into his again and given it a squeeze before letting go and spreading his arms wide. He spun around, unsteadily, nearly hitting a pedestrian and a lamppost. “It’s snowing, Illya.”

So it was, Illya’s nose twitched as the cold substance hit it. He allowed himself a slight smile, despite not liking all the festivity shoved in his face due to the holidays he always admired the picturesque scene of snow over the city.


	2. Act II

**Act II:** _”We kissed on the corner, then danced through the night”_

For once, Napoleon didn’t have a plan. He’d had an initial plan to spend Christmas Eve with Illya and when that surprisingly worked, well he hadn’t thought ahead from that. That’s why he let Illya pick what they done, Napoleon could’ve suggested a thousands things, but honestly he didn’t know what might’ve scared Illya off. He didn’t spend enough time with Illya outside of work to know what he liked to do in his downtime.

That was all going to change in the new year. His resolution to himself was to get to know his partner better, he imagined they’d both like that. Even if Illya would deny it.

But for now, with no solid plan and having to make a speedy exit from the bar they’d gone to, they jumped on the subway and were now walking across Times Square. It was gorgeous with the snow settling, last minute shoppers rushing along with bags in their hands; mainly men because he would admit they were the least organised, groups of teenagers excitedly discussing what they expected under the tree and kids tugging at their parent’s sleeve to point in every shop window whilst the parent threatened them with Santa to get them to behave.

“Sorry i didn’t get you anything this year, Illya,” Napoleon said as a man carefully carrying a stack of gift wrapped presents passed them. His words came out a bit more slurred than he liked, the walk was doing wonders for helping sober him up but it would take much longer for numerous vodka shots and wine consumed in such a short period of time to wear off.

“It’s okay, I will somehow survive.”

“I’ll buy you a new year present instead. What would ya like?”

“The best gifts, Napoleon, aren’t material.”

The words, that sounded extremely Illya, took a moment to sink in. And then he looked across at his blonde companion to try and work out exactly what he meant. It was futile of course, all that he wore on his face was his trademark half smile.

“Is that some deep way of saying you’re not going to fork out on a gift for me?”

“Precisely. Plus, since when do I ever buy you a present?”

“This lovely hat, scarf and gloves.”

“A rare moment of madness.”

“I should get you a similar set. We can match like real partners.”

Illya’s smirk got bigger and he glanced across at Napoleon. “In what sense of the word.”

“What word?”

“Partners.”

Occasionally Napoleon was lost for words and this was one of those times, but it didn’t matter. Something had finally caught the Russian’s interest. Illya walked over to a crowd of people who had crowded around a temporary stage that was set up. The stage wasn’t very high, but you couldn’t miss the sound of music coming from it. 

“You want me to put you on my shoulders so you can see little buddy?” Napoleon teased slapping Illya’s back earning him a scowl. 

Whoever was on stage was playing Christmas songs with a contemporary jazzy twist. Napoleon knew that Illya liked music so this was good. By the time the first song ended he wasn’t sure if they’d been pushed nearer the front or more people had joined and surrounded them because they were now deep in a crowd of Christmas revellers. Illya didn’t seem to mind though, he was well into it and didn’t even protest when a cute young woman forced a red Father Christmas hat on his head. It was rather adorable.

Napoleon loosened his tie and begun singing along merrily, not even questioning how he knew the words. There wasn’t enough space to dance properly but he pumped his fists and was able to do a simple two step in time to the music, even Illya managed to sway side to side. Napoleon made an executive decision that he definitely should make Illya do vodka shots again sometime, it apparently worked wonders on his usual square like demeanour. He became so engrossed in watching Illya he almost missed when the man gestured for him to follow him through the crowd and he consciously missed all the pretty females smiling at him on the way.

In fact all he wanted to focus on was Illya. Illya in the Santa hat, Illya enjoying the Christmas music, Illya whose nose twitched and scrunched up in a ridiculous cute manner when a snow flake hit it. He hooked his arm over Illya’s shoulders and was pleasantly surprised when he wasn’t pushed away. 

“Has Scrooge realised the error of his ways?”

“Christmas is actually okay, corporate big wigs and annoying people like you that go over the top are not.”

“Bah humbug.” Napoleon poked his tongue out and much to Illya’s delight spluttered when he got a mouthful of snow. It was coming down even harder now, it was undoubtedly going to be a beautiful white Christmas. 

With his arm still slung around Illya they walked aimlessly down 7th Avenue. Napoleon’s alcohol riddled body tripped over his feet several times, it was annoying being the sort of drunk where his mind was still somewhat clear but his body was having other ideas. Not to mention the very limited inhibitions and self control that he had whilst sober were completely depleted. Perhaps that’s why he was rubbing small circles onto Illya’s back, even if the younger man probably couldn’t feel it over his coat; it was still daring. And not to mention he’d taken a hold of Illya’s hand earlier when there was no real reason other than he just wanted to.

A group of young girls passed by them, too young to catch Napoleon’s eye, but out of habit he flashed them a friendly smile anyway. They didn’t seem interested in him though, they muttered between themselves pointing and giggling at Illya offering him coy smiles, suggestive waves and winks.

“Was that the Illya Kuryakin fan club?” Napoleon asked, amused yet Illya was clearly unamused and Napoleon guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d had rambunctious young girls dote on him. Back at HQ he’d been nicknamed the ‘Blonde Beatle’ after all.

“Are you looking to join? For five dollars you’ll get an autographed photo of me.”

“I just might,” Napoleon chuckled, “you are very pretty.”

Napoleon’s heart skipped a beat when he realised what he’d just said and not only that, how he’d just said it. Voice two notches lower, words drawn out; something usually reserved for romancing the fairer sex. Illya didn’t roll his eyes or anything of the sort though, nope, he turned his head and Napoleon was sure his cheeks were going red just like he was sure they’d gone earlier in the alleyway. It would seem that after a few drinks not even the icy Russian was immune to the charms of Napoleon Solo.

They turned down a small side street after he was certain Illya has muttered something about a subway station. Hopefully Napoleon had misheard. He didn’t want the evening to come to an end just yet, he hoped he hadn’t crossed the line. Consciously he removed his arm from around Illya and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

They made it to the end of West 49th street and stood on the corner. It wasn’t as busy on this street. It was dark, the snow was piling up the only people around this were the last of the drunks and those who looked like they just wanted to reach their destination. No doubt they had families to get to, it was Christmas Eve after all. Napoleon didn’t have a family to get to though, not this year. Nor Illya.

“It’s late, I should go,” said Illya.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Illya was going to get the Subway and Napoleon was going to hail a cab. That didn’t happen though, they just stood there as if waiting for the other. Eventually, true to character, Napoleon made the first move. He done something that surprised himself and pulled Illya into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, Illya,” he said softly. Keeping a hold of the Russian for long enough that it would probably be questionable for two males. What was even more surprising was when Illya hugged him back, with an added pat on the back as if to reinforce the platonic relationship between them.

“Merry Christmas.”

If you’d asked Napoleon a year ago if he was attracted to men he would’ve just laughed, called the thought of that absurd and found a nice pretty young woman to flirt with just to prove a point. If you asked Napoleon now whether he was attracted to men he would still say no, but it wouldn’t be an absurd thought and he wouldn’t flirt with a woman just to prove a point. What he would do, he would think about Illya, he would flirt with Illya. 

No one had questioned his sexuality though apart from himself. The outcome was the same though. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but there was a point where he just couldn’t shove it to the back of his mind anymore he was attracted to Illya without a doubt. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to come from it though, but he was more than willing to try and find out. 

He didn’t know if Illya was attracted to him though. Heck, he didn’t even know if Illya was attracted to men in general. He had is suspicions, but that was merely a sixth sense and Illya wasn’t exactly the easiest person to read. Not that discussing or using anything but utmost discretion wasn’t the done thing when it came to homosexual relationships. As progressive as America was made out to be, a lot of society was still very critical of anything that didn’t fit their white picket fence heterosexual societal ‘norms’. Although, when they’d both, somewhat drunkenly on his part, alluded to Illya’s sexuality slyly earlier, that wasn’t met with Illya telling him that he was strictly a women sort of guy. 

It had been a long time since Napoleon was unsure about someone he was attracted to. It was a weird feeling not knowing if they liked him back. He was used to being in control of the situation, the dominant one doing the leading on even if the other party thought it was them. So he didn’t think and done what he knew best, took control of the situation in the best way he knew possible.

That’s why instead breaking the hug with Illya and attempting to find a cab to hail, he run his hand through the man’s blonde hair, knocking the Santa hat to the ground in the process, and kissed him. 

It wasn’t a particularly long kiss but it was no means just an innocent chaste sort of affair. Napoleon was certain if they weren’t in public and the mixture of alcohol and closed eyes making his head spin hadn’t caused him to break things off Illya wouldn’t have had any problems continuing.

Now they were both blushing and they both looked around to see if anyone had anything to say about it. But if the drunk couple singing a ‘we wish you a merry Christmas’ out loud the opposite side of the street had noticed, they clearly didn’t care. 

“Sorry,” Napoleon said, he wasn’t even sure it was loud enough for Illya to hear. He didn’t know why he was apologising, it wasn’t as if Illya hadn’t kissed him back.

Illya looked at him with that damn annoying expressionless look he had perfected and raised an eyebrow. “No mistletoe? Not very festive, Napoleon.”

“That’s coming from you, Mr Anti Christmas.”

“Like I said before, Christmas is okay.”

“Just okay?”

There was a smirk and Illya pushed his hand through his hair. “That’s what I said.”

Napoleon still wasn’t in control of any of this, that was certain. He decided to play it cool and tried to think of something smart to say, but he didn’t get a chance. Something hit him right in the face, his first instinct was to go for his gun, but luckily the sound of kids laughing and feeling how cold the missile had been stopped him.

He pulled his scarf up and wiped his face and by the time he’d done so world war three: the great snowball battle, had broken out between Illya and three children.

“Well don’t just stand there, we’re under attack!” Illya said as he scooped up a handful of snow and sent it hurtling to the other side of the road.

“Yes sir.”


	3. Act III

**Act III:** _“You scumbag, you maggot”_

“You’re an idiot,” Illya said with a straight face. “How you manage survive in a gunfight is beyond me.”

“They had me surrounded, what was I meant to do?”

“Act like a good agent and think on your feet.”

“They’re kids. Plus you’re the one that just let them take your Santa hat like that.”

“A small price to pay so they’d spare your life. You should be thanking me.”

“You make it sound as if THRUSH hired them to throw poison snowballs at us or something.”

Illya thought for a second and then shrugged, “wouldn’t be the craziest thing they’ve done.”

He wasn’t prepared for when Napoleon grabbed his face with his cold, wet gloves and he almost jumped out of his skin. “Get off!” 

“Make me,” Napoleon teased and in one swift movement the dark haired agent had somehow managed to undo the buttons on his coat and now cold hands were untucking his shirt and pressing themselves against his stomach and back.

“Oi!” Illya tried to free himself from the chill of Napoleon’s hands, but it was futile and soon enough they were grappling each other and wrestling whilst slipping in the snow. 

“You fellas okay?” Came a sudden deep voice from behind them.

They both stopped what they was doing and looked around to see two policemen approaching. That worked on getting Napoleon away from him, they jumped at least a meter apart and Illya was glad to see Napoleon going as red as he felt his own cheeks going.

“Just kidding around officers.” Said Napoleon, straightening his hat up. “No funny business.”

There was silence as the police turned their eyes to Illya and all he could manage was an over enthusiastic nod of confirmation as he re-buttoned his coat, but that seemed to be enough.

“Okay boys, keep it that way. Merry Christmas.”

Napoleon gave them a smile and Christmas wishes as they passed and carried on down the street. 

“Boys, did he just call us boys?” Illya questioned. “I know I look young, but you.”

“Wow, okay insulting much,” Napoleon said, but then he laughed and jabbed Illya in the side.

“Don’t make me get them cops back here and have them arrest you.”

“Arrest me? After all the bad, bad things you’ve done today.”

“Like what?”

“Like kiss me.”

“Me kiss you. I think the cold has gone to your head Napol...” Illya didn’t get to finish his sentence because there Napoleon was again kissing him.

Illya was still as shocked as he was the first time it happened, but the shock didn’t last long and he fully got to appreciate the feeling of Napoleon’s lips against his. Napoleon kissed by the book, of course he did. Illya wouldn’t expect anything less. He then became really self aware of them being out in public and what they were doing was illegal. He pushed Napoleon away and as he looked around to make sure the cops weren’t storming back over to them, which they weren’t as they were long gone, Napoleon just laughed.

“You look adorable when you’re worried like that.”

“You... You scumbag, Napoleon!” Illya shoved him. “You’re an utter...”

“Well now that’s a bit harsh.” Napoleon cut him off and held his hands up defensively, but still had that annoying grin across his face.

“You can’t just go around kissing people like that.”

“Have you met me before?”

“I mean me, you can’t just do that to me.”

“Why not? I liked it, didn’t you?”

Illya wanted to knock the cocky look right off Napoleon’s face, but admittedly and maybe it was just the alcohol talking, he did like it. This was something they should probably talk about, usually when it came to Napoleon a kiss nothing more complicated than a means of letting his pent up sexual frustrations out on a beautiful woman and not something that involved wanting anything more than a quick fumble or a weekend whirlwind romance. But Illya wasn’t a woman, he wasn’t even just a random man that Napoleon would never have to see again. They were partners who had to face each other nearly every day and Napoleon knew that.

Maybe Napoleon expected something from him. Were they going to start stealing kisses now in the stationary stock cupboards at HQ when nobody was looking?

So much for hanging out more as friends, things were undoubtedly get weird no matter how aloof Illya tried to be or how Napoleon would just try to play it off with all his charm.

“Illya, you are you alright?”

Illya jumped a little, he realised he was just staring blankly after getting lost in his thoughts. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Sorry for kissing you if that’s not what you wanted,” Napoleon said sheepishly, “twice.”

“No,” Illya replied almost a little too fast and he felt the damn heat rising in cheeks again, “it was okay.”

“You know you don’t give a guy a lot to work with.”

Illya didn’t know what to say to this, he just shrugged and Napoleon retorted with an over exaggerated eye roll.

Napoleon made the decision to walk home instead of getting a cab, it wasn’t a long walk. Just under twenty blocks to Napoleon’s apartment on 27th street 5th Avenue at their current speed Illya approximated it would take them just under half hour. He didn’t know why he was walking with Napoleon though, he lived in the East Village, granted it was in that general direction it was a good hours walk away. He’d just see Napoleon home, he told himself because that’s what friends do. Walk each other home, keep each other company. 

Neither of them commented about Illya walking in Napoleon’s direction, in fact neither of them commented on much at all. Just the odd throwaway comment about shops, restaurants or Christmas decorations they passed and everything in between filled with silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence though, well at least Illya didn’t think so although he’d become somewhat subconsciously immune to awkward silence after having being forced into many social situations he’d rather have avoided in his university years.

It would’ve been the perfect time to bring up them kissing, but neither of them done it before they reached the apartment.

Illya had never actually been here before, from the outside at least it was a very nice apartment building, Illya was certain he could see a concierge desk through the front doors. He wondered how much Napoleon paid a month for this place.

“Stay for the evening.”

“Huh,” Illya gulped, Napoleon certainly was catching him off guard this evening, he couldn’t make a habit of this. Then it dawned on him, perhaps Napoleon did see him like he saw every skirt he chased. “I’m not one of your women, Napoleon. You can’t just kiss me and expect me to fall in your arms for a one night stand.”

“Illya, Illya, Illya...” Napoleon’s stupid grin returned. “If I was going to seduce you, well I think you’re worth a lot more than some cheap shots. I’d at least throw in a dinner. What I meant was from a purely platonic standpoint, honest, stay in the guest room and spend Christmas Day with me. Unless you have other plans.”

“I’d planned to spend the day reading _The Life of Arseniev_ by Ivan Bunin.”

Napoleon opened his mouth as if he was about to say something then closed it again, raising an eyebrow before speaking. “Well as thrilling as that sounds I have a nice ham I picked up the other day and all the trimmings, so would you like to join me for dinner?”

Illya mentally noted that he could’ve gone home and just come back tomorrow, but perhaps Napoleon didn’t want the evening to end just yet. Perhaps _he_ didn’t want the evening to end just yet. He was enjoying the company, kisses aside.

“Okay, if you insist. It would be rude of me to refuse good food.” Illya smiled slightly. “No funny business though.”

“Scouts honor.” Napoleon said holding up the three fingered salut. 

Illya just rolled his eyes and followed Napoleon towards the door. Then he thought about something he’d said. “You have a guest bedroom?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”


	4. Act IV

**Act IV:** _“And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day”_

It was 9:15am on Christmas morning. Napoleon had been awake for the past hour and now he was stretched out on the sofa drinking homemade eggnog. He didn’t even like it that much but it was a tradition he subjected himself to every year even when his family weren’t around to enforce it.

Last night had been great, him and Illya had sat on this sofa and shared a bottle of red wine laughing, joking, reminiscing about their crazy adventures. It was nice seeing Illya like that, laughing at his own tales before the words had even left his mouth. He had a sense that Illya needed an evening like that much more than he’d let on and Napoleon, whilst not unsociable, it was rare he got to wind down with a friend who knew him so well. 

Not to mention Illya hadn’t completely freaked out when he’d kissed him earlier that day, twice. That definitely confirmed that Illya was into men, well didn’t object to him at least and it certainly was confirmation for Napoleon that he too liked men which wasn’t a big of a problem as he imagined he’d convince himself it was. He wasn’t prejudice, love was love after all. Not that he was saying that he loved Illya, but he certainly was attracted to him. Unfortunately they didn’t kiss anymore last night, but at least things didn’t get awkward or anything, Napoleon had thought that Illya would’ve been the type of person who’d want to overthink and have a serious talk about it.

He balanced the eggnog on his chest, frowning when a drop rolled down the glass onto his silky blue pyjama top.

After what seemed like ages, but was in reality only fifteen minutes, Illya emerged from the guest room. Napoleon sat up and watched as he silently walked over to the kitchen and ran himself a large glass of water. His hair was messy and he was only clad in the red pyjamas bottoms Napoleon had loaned him.

It was weird to see Illya so casual, they’d bunked together many times before but even in the middle of the desert in the sweltering heat Illya had slept with at least a vest on his upper half in his presence. Maybe this was a sign that Illya was feeling more comfortable around him.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Illya looked over at him. “I’ve been colder,” he said with a smile that Napoleon couldn’t gauge, sometimes he wondered if there was a ton of Russian brand humour that went over his head on a daily basis.

“I have eggnog.”

“Bit early.”

“Non alcoholic, for now. Whiskey to be added later.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s Christmas Day by the way.”

“I would’ve never realised.” Illya said, running his fingers across the red tinsel that currently lined the fireplace. Before picking up one of the many cards from Napoleon’s admirers, reading it with a bemused look on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Illya.”

Illya’s eyes stopped darting back and forth across the text in the card and smiled, a small sincere smile that looked like it was just meant for himself, but Napoleon saw it and his heart almost skipped a beat. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Napoleon.” Illya put the card back and looked at him, the smile quickly faded and both his eyebrows shot up. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Listen, that.”

Illya went over to the window and opened it, the sound of bells being rung accompanied by Christmas carols and over excited children became clear. Napoleon knew exactly what that was, he got up and joined Illya by the window, looking down at the festively coloured crowd passing.

“Every year they go to Madison Square Park and put on a small concert for mainly the homeless and then hand out gifts.”

“Oh,” Illya seemed pleasantly surprised, “that’s very thoughtful of them.”

“So has Scrooge softened up then?” Napoleon said with a smirk, leaning against the windowsill he crossed his arms.

“Christmas isn’t over just yet. Ask me after dinner.” The passing choir rung their bells louder and Illya flinched before shutting the window.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t.”

“Well actually it’s something I picked up with you in mind on a mission ages ago and I completely forgot about it until now.”

Napoleon told Illya not to move and went into his bedroom, under his bed was a chest of nostalgic belongings and interesting bits and bobs he’d picked up over the years. He picked out a book, the cover and binding was worn, it had definitely seen better days, but Illya would still appreciate it he hoped.

When he returned to the living room Illya was just dropping the needle on the record player. The familiar sound of Bing Crosby’s, _‘White Christmas’_ started playing softly, he wouldn’t peg Illya to be someone who’d play such a generic Christmas record but he knew better than to question it. 

“This is for you,” Napoleon said, holding the book out.

“Just so you know this doesn’t mean I’m going to pull out a present for you from thin air.” Illya took the book, at first he was confused but as he read the title, in Russian Cyrillic, his eyes widened and when he opened the book and scanned the title page there was no hiding his smile.

“Is this a first edition?”

“Not quite 1889 I’m told, but close.”

Napoleon had handed him a copy of Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novel _‘The Death Of Ivan Ilyich’._ Illya always spoke fondly of the author, regarding him as one of the greats, so when he was asked to go above and beyond for a wealthy Russian oligarch who’s life and families lives were in his hands Napoleon asked for this in return after being given a tour of his personal library. It was a small price to pay for the trouble that Napoleon had been put through that week.

“How did you acquire this?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Napoleon teased, tapping his nose. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Maybe, just maybe I might think about getting you something.”

Napoleon put his hand over his heart and sighed, “oh how you spoil me.”

Illya just shook his head and suddenly Napoleon had the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. Not that he hadn’t had the urge since doing it yesterday, but now seemed like a good moment.

He took Illya’s face in both hands, the feeling of his prickly unshaven face against his palms was definitely a strange albeit alright feeling. This time Illya moved into the kiss first, it was more intense than before and he was almost caught off guard when Illya slipped his tongue past his lips. Just as they was getting into the swing of things, there was knocking at the front door.

“Sorry, probably Louise from upstairs. Her and her husband are always asking to borrow the weirdest kitchen utensils.”

Napoleon left Illya with a soft chaste kiss and answered the door, he was taken aback to see that it wasn’t actually Louise or any other neighbor. It was his mother, father, sister and her husband and his eight year old twin nephew and niece.

“What are you doing here?” Were the first words that fell out his mouth.

“Well that’s just charming. Drive all the way here after you refuse to spend Christmas with us and this is what we’re greeted with.”

“Erm...” Napoleon held open his arms and pulled welcomed his mother into a hug. “I mean merry Christmas.” He took a deep breath, there was something about the familiar smell of his parents that was always comforting. The reminder of home and a wonderful childhood. “Seriously though, you didn’t have to come here.”

Napoleon let his mum pass then hugged his father, who had never cared for masculine stereotypes squeezed his only son like he hadn’t seen him in ages. Well, it had been nearly a year. And then he greeted the rest of his family and welcomed them into his apartment.

He almost didn’t notice that Illya, Illya who he had been mid kiss with, had disappeared until the Russian reappeared with his hair brushed wearing a pair of Napoleon’s beige shorts that were usually reserved for summer and a faded blue tee with Napoleon’s high school logo on it which had definitely been too big for him even when he acquired it in senior year So was definitely too big for Illya.

It was endearing. Napoleon thought to himself. An odd get up for Christmas morning, but definitely endearing.

“Why’d you change?” Napoleon asked him in a hush tone.

“My clothes are still snow damp as I may have just left them in a pile on the bedroom floor and I thought it might seem odd me just parading around half naked in your pyjama bottoms.”

Napoleon smirked, Illya had definitely over thought this. “No less odd than you wearing my high school shirt like you’re my sweetheart.”

Napoleon could almost see Illya willing himself not to turn red as Napoleon shoved him forward to introduce him to his family. 

“Illya, this is my mother and father, Tracey and Robert, my baby sister Dotty and her husband Frederick and their little terrors Billy and Susie.” Illya shook everyone’s hand and Napoleon introduced him as a work colleague.

“So you’re a super spy too!” Billy exclaimed.

“Something like that.” Illya replied. 

“Wow that’s so cool!” Susie chipped in. “I want to be a spy when I’m older!”

“Girls can’t be spies.” Billy taunted. “They’re too weak.”

Napoleon knew what was coming next, Susie chased Billy and got the upper hand tackling him on to the sofa which wrestling and tickling ensued followed by their parents telling them to be careful. 

“I thought you guys were going on holiday.” Illya stated his arms crossed in what was probably a bid to hide the logo on the tee.

“Holiday?” Napoleon’s mom eyebrows raised. “Not at all. We always spend Christmas at home or come to Napoleon if he can’t make it and this year when he insisted he be alone we just couldn’t have that.”

“Oh, I must’ve misheard.” Illya said, eyes narrowed as he shot Napoleon a look.

It was game over. 

His mother and father, none the wiser, got to work in turning the place into their own. Something they done spectacularly whenever they visited. His father, who was the best cook in the family got to work in the kitchen whilst his brother and law and mother went to get the luggage from the car and his sister entertained the twins on the living room floor with a pack of cards.

Unnoticed, Napoleon managed to sneak Illya into his bedroom quickly.

“Family on holiday huh?”

“Sorry I lied, but I just wanted to spend Christmas Eve with you. Is that so bad?” Napoleon put on his best pout. “And having you here Christmas Day is an added bonus.”

“You could’ve just asked me instead of this elaborate plan.”

“Well it was more fun this way, spending time with you. Plus I knew you’d say no if I just asked you outright.”

“For an American you’re not so stupid.”

“Thanks, I think,” Napoleon chuckled. “Sorry about the intrusion though, I honestly had no idea they were coming.”

“It’s okay. I have yet to experience the true American Christmas Day, I’ll think of this as a learning experience.” Illya ran his hand through his hair. “Plus, I’m intrigued to find out what your family are like.”

“Great,” Napoleon tugged at the baggy blue shirt Illya wore and pulled him in for a quick kiss. This was becoming like second nature to him.

“Hmm, still no mistletoe.” Illya rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This is definitely not like you. I’m beginning to get worried,” he teased.

“Ahh, Christmas isn’t over yet my friend. There’s still time.”

“I’ll be waiting then.” Illya smiled and then bit his lip. “Tomorrow though, can we talk though. Away from your family?”

Napoleon sighed to himself, he knew this was coming though so he wasn’t surprised. “Of course.”

“Don’t look so worried,” Illya smirked. “And yesterday was fun, I enjoyed it. A lot. And thanks again for the book, but I still stand by why I said, the best presents aren’t material.”

With that Illya left the room and Napoleon took a moment to compose himself from the massive smile that forced itself across his face.

Suddenly the sound of _‘Jingle Bells’_ echoed through his apartment and Napoleon knew the twins had raided his record collection.

This was a Merry Christmas in New York indeed.


End file.
